In Victoria, there is a small community of colourful house boats that float by the harbour. It is calm and eerie at the same time. In the summer it is easy to imagine the docks full of parents in line for ice cream, children laughing with the seals, and couples sitting by the water.
But it is not summer. The docks are empty, a lone fish and chips shop floats on the water, and the colours of the house boats seem dimmed by the melancholy atmosphere. There are no people, new or old. The old are asleep, and the sharp wind disorientates the new who venture down to the wharf, for it knows it is not yet time for their arrival.
But the birds are getting anxious. They can feel the warmth that has begun to arrive, and the cherry blossoms that are beginning to bloom. The seals lift their heads occasionally, in anticipation for their upcoming feast. The colours on the houses dim themselves because they are preparing for their monologue in the summer.
Summer is near.